Crutchy The Other Side
by thatbrooklyn
Summary: What about after Crutchy gets caught? What happens to him in the refuge? How did he end up helping even when he was inside?
1. Chapter 1

"No! Crutchy! Scram!" It was Racetrack's voice that caused me to look up.

I looked around, suddenly aware that my comrades were scattering. I quickly stopped dismantling the newsstand and attempted to get my crutch under me. Newspapers were still drifting lazily to the ground as I hobbled to the gate. I can skip along at a pretty smart little clip when i need to, but never as fast as the other fellas.

_I think I can make it...uh-oh..._

Mounted officers surounded the exits, blocking my escape. I was getting scared, I could see the last of my pals dissapear around the corner. I tried not to let my terror show on my face, without much success. Then I heard a voice behind me. _Oscar and Morris._ I turned. _Start talking, they's no turnin' back now._

_"_Heya, fellas, how ya doin?"

Evidently they didn't want to talk, because a second later, i found myself without my crutch, and being dragged roughly toward the alley. I started to struggle, still talking a mile a minute, but now unable to keep the fear out of my voice. As soon as we were out of site, Oscar brought his club down hard on my back, sending excruciating pain up my spine and down my bad leg. I gritted my teeth, determined not to cry out. I closed my eyes as Morris delivered three smashing blows to my stomach, but when Oscar twisted my bad leg, I nearly blacked out.

"How d'ya like that, ya crippin' son of a-"

I choked, "C'mon, guys, I-"

Slam!

I smacked up against the wall, the back of my head cracking loadly against the brick. I wasn't gonna last much longer...

"No...please, fellas, I...can't...I..."

Darkness.

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**A/N. Wow, this was random. Poor Crutchy. I was thinking about this scene today during school and couldn't get in out of my head. I will probably write about three more chaps for this one, depending on feedback. **


	2. Chapter 2

A loud clang broke through the eerie stillnes of the dark solitary cell. "Hey, you, get up. They's movin' ya in with the rest of the boys." My eyes opened slowly, my head throbbing mercilessly at the temple. Trying to brush away the boot toeing me roughly in the ear, I sat up painfully."What...oh." I looked up to see a some big brute with a club in his hand, motioning for me to get a move on.

_Yeah, I'm a pretty big threat to dis guy, alright, _I thought as I struggled painfully to my feet. He took me by the elbow and gripped hard, pulling me out of the dark cell and into the light. We began walking down a long hallway. I looked around as we walked, and saw big wooden doors with iron bars at the top lining the walkway. I chuckled. _Wonder what kinda desperate criminals is hidin' behin' them doors._

"Whatcha laughin' about, kid?" I felt a smack on the back of my head as I was pushed along.

"Oh, oh, nuttin' sir. I was just admirin all these swell furnishings in here an' wonderin' how on earth you affords 'em all." Stumbling slighty, I stepped up onto the metal stairs that lead into the upper level of the Refuge. "I can see plainly that Mr. Snyder sure nows where ta spend tha dough he gets ta take care 'a da place. I mean, who needs food, right?"

"Betta watch ya mouth, boy!" The big man shoved me brutally into the farthest room at the very back. He shut the huge door with a deafening thud.

I would've hit the floor hard, except someone caught me. I gasped as my bum leg hit the corner of a bunk.

"Hey, it's alright, we got ya. Come on ovah an get some water." I saw many young faces above me, and I tried to thank them as several of the older fellas carried me over to a small wash basin and began to carefully wash my wounds and gave me a drink.

I finally found my voice, and said to the dark-haired boy who was dressing my leg, "Gee, thanks, pal. I sure..."

"You's one a them newsies thats on strike, aint ya?" He interrupted. His dark green eyes showed vivid, intense interest.

I chuckled and shook my head. "Sure am. I'se one a dem Manhattan boys. An' if Cowboy has anythin' ta do with it, we'll win that strike."

"Cowboy, huh? you know Cowboy?" I grinned and nodded. He thrust his hand out to me. "Tha names' Shiner." He motioned to the red-haired boy behind me who was takin' care of the cut on my head, "and that's Rusty, an then these other two little squirrels is Domino an' Ten Pin." He shoved some of the rags he had already used in the younger boy's direction, and they obediantly picked them up. "They's good kids, only in here cause they got hungry."

As soon as they had cleaned me up, the helped me, under my weak protests, to a bunk in the far corner by the window. Shiner made sure I got one of the thin blankets that were supposedly issued to each boy. "Gets pretty cold in here in tha winter," he explained, "but dis should keep ya warm enough for now. Hasn't got too bad yet."

I nodded gratefully and sank onto my bunk. It had been a day and a half since I had been caught, I figured, and I wondered how the rest of the fellas were makin' out. I knew Jack pretty well. Had known him almost my whole life. I grinned, remembering the first time he'd stuck up for me. It had hurt my pride terribly, and it had taken me a while to get over it. But he had gradually made friends with me. He respected me, something not many of the fellas back then had done. He had always seemed to be able to tell when I could handle something on my own, even if it looked like I was having trouble. But he was always there to help if I couldn't do something, even under my protests.

I closed my eyes. My tired body prepared to begin healing the only way it knew how, and I began to drift off to sleep.

Yes, if Jack had anything to do with it, they would win this strike.


	3. Chapter 3

_Splash!_

I started awake, gasping as the frigid water hit my face.

"Get up, ya scum! Get dressed. Ya workin' in th' kitchen taday." The big, overweight attendant continued down the line of bunks, jostling or splashing awake the occupants of the hard, cold beds.

I grumbled as I tried to brush the water out of my wet nightshirt. I tried to sit up, but pain shot down my spine and down into my bum leg. I could hear thunder outside and saw the pouring rain coming down out of the window. I forced a grin to my face, trying to see the humor in the situation. _Well..least I ain't sellin' in th' rain today! _

After receiving a meager slice of coarse bread from the attendant, I limped after him painfully so he could show me where to go. I wasn't keeping up too good, I suppose, because soon he became impatient and yelled at me to quit playin' around and hurry up.

Trying to comply, I scuffled along faster, although the pain in my back and leg screamed at me to stop.

In angry exasperation, the attendant finally shrieked for someone to come drag me to work. I protested weakly for a moment as I was knocked around by several big young bruisers, then limply gave up. They hauled me to the basement kitchen, where I was to work peeling potatoes and chopping cabbage. I noticed that there were stacks of crates filled with produce lining the walls. I happily decided that maybe at least the meals might be alright after a while. Better than this morning, anyhow.

The man in charge in the kitchen was a small man, maybe in his upper forties. He kindly helped me get comfortably situated for my work. Encouraged by his kindness, I began happily to address him. "Thanks, mister! Helps a lot when folks is…"

"Shut up, boy!" He glanced furtively towards the door. "Walls have ears. You'se gonna get me fired for bein' too soft on ya." His face was hard, but he ruffled my hatless head, softening his words.

I bit my tongue and nodded. Determined to do my best while in this hellhole, I got to work.

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Y'know how I thought the meals was gonna get better? Well…let's just say they didn't. Oh, sure, they had plenty of food coming in, bein' peeled and cooked, but that food somehow never seemed to make it to us fellas during meals. I had a sneaking suspicion that Snyder was selling it for some pocket cash to some of the lower class families in Manhattan. Dirty, rotten…

Anyway, after working in the kitchen for two days, I was told that I would personally be serving Warden Snyder his meals from now on. My first gut instinct was to protest, because, well, Snyder ain't exactly one that just brightens your day when he walks into it, ya know? Yeah.

And another thing, ya don't get where ya wanna be by complainin'. The way I had it figgered, as long as I have to be makin' pleasantries with the lout, I might be able to get inside information that could help the boys on the outside. Pretty swell thinkin', huh? It's that brain of mine; it's always comin' up with stuff like this.

After my first day working for Snyder, I was feeling pretty sore. I wasn't able to walk all that great, and one of the little fellas, Ten Pin, had to help me back up to the big room.

I looked at some of the younger boys, and noticed that they were looking at my bum leg.

"Hey, you guys wanna hear a story?" I grinned, and motioned for them to come on over. They did. I began to tell them all about the strike and what it meant; what it would mean for them. By the end of my story, their eyes were wide. One of the bigger boys, Shiner, jerked his black head and said, "We gotcha back, Crutchy. All of us in heah is with ya. We understand the principle behind the protest, and we wants to do what we can." His eyes lowered, "But I guess they's not much we can do in heah."

I opened my mouth to tell them that they could be a help, just to keep their eyes and ears open, but I saw something slip past the window and stopped. Ten Pin saw it too, and walked over to check it out. I went back to talking to the fellas.

I was interrupted by Ten Pin a moment later, who pointed at the window and proceeded to help me up. I glanced over and caught sight of a red bandana and a black cowboy hat…

My heart leapt. Could it be… I painfully got to my feet, wincing slightly as my leg refused to hold weight. Ten pin and ------ helped me carefully to the window.

"I don't believe it…I just don't believe it!" I couldn't keep the massive grin from completely overtaking my face.

"Heya, Crutchy." Jack's smile faded as he saw me stumble a little, and I saw a flash of anger in his eyes for just a second. Then the smile came back. It made me uncomfortable that he could tell that I was hurting, but my joy and excitement overruled those feelings.

Ten pin left me at the window, and I was sweating from the effort. I shook my head as I faced my friend, grinning widely. Heck, Jack was almost my brother.

"What are ya hangin' around heah, for huh?" I joked. Man! If I wasn't glad to see him. He laughed, repeating my line with a chuckle.

"Listen, Crutch…ya know who's up on th' roof? Dave."

Excitedly I called a hello to David, who was waiting to pull Jack back up. I heard only a resounding _SSHHHHHHH!!!_ Reminding us to keep it down. Jack looked at me and shrugged, rolling his eyes at Dave. I chuckled. Then Jack punched me gently on the arm.

"Listen, go get your stuff. We're gonna get you out of here." Jack's face was determined, and I knew his brain would be working a mile a minute to figure out a way to get me out, quickly and safely. If not slightly daring, cause that was just…Jack.

But there was one problem. I couldn't leave, and I knew it. Heck, I could barely walk. My countenance fell as I realized how much Jack had risked in coming here. I wanted to get out, to escape with him and David more than anything. My mind tried to find a possibility in what Jack could be planning, but I knew that I would slow them down enough so that it would be very easy for them to be caught. There would be no way I could keep up.

"Actually…I ain't walkin' so good." I watched Jack's face darken. I knew he would be furious with whoever had done this to me, but I didn't want to admit I had been hurt. I wanted to be strong…like he was. But…I had to tell him. He would find out anyway.

"Oscar and Morris…kinda worked me over a little." I had to swallow a lump in my throat as Jack's expression went hard. His jaw clenched and his hazel eyes narrowed.

"They hurt ya?" He ground out. The concern on his face left a bitter taste in my mouth. I could only nod in response. _Cheese it, why do I have to be a gimp? _

The determination doubled in Jack's countenance, and I could almost see his wheels turning. He looked around, sizing up every single possibility.

His voice was tinged with intensity as he looked for another way to make the escape. "Listen, me an' Dave, we can carry you outta here."

I drew up suddenly, my pride getting the better of me. I knew I was turning red. Regardless, I spoke slowly and deliberately, emphasizing each word.

"I don't want _nobody _carryin' me. _EVAH_ya heah?" I searched Jack's face, and in return he studied mine. I saw hope leave his expression, and his determination change to incredulous disbelief. I knew that it was not just for my stubborn pride that I couldn't go with him, but…the strike needed him. Without Jack and David, there would _be_ no strike.

For a moment it looked like he might argue with me, but he didn't. Understanding flashed over his face, along with a helplessness that comes when you know you can do nothing to change things. But at the same time… he understood. His eyes regarded me with solemn respect, for he knew that I wanted to come. With a tired nod, Jack opened his mouth to say something.

Suddenly, I heard a scuffling at the door. I turned and saw Domino tumble through the door and give a signal that clearly said someone was coming. I quickly turned back to Jack.

"Hey! Cheese it!" He nodded and abruptly thrust himself to the side of the window, swinging out of sight. I turned to see Snyder walk into the chink, just fractions of a second after Jack had disappeared. The uptight, suspicious nature of the man led him to check the bunkrooms and workplaces constantly. If one of the small boys got rowdy or failed to follow instructions to a T, he got a beating. To say nothing of the bigger boys.

I took a deep breath as Snyder smacked the bunk above Domino's head, telling him to doff his hat in the presence of authority. I had heard tales of Snyder being in the war, but being dismissed because of his cruelty to his men. Maybe that was a rumor. People tend to stretch things. But then again, maybe it wasn't.

Snyder suddenly latched his eyes on something that was on the windowsill. It was Jack's handprint. Dirt and dust had accumulated on the sill over the long months, and there was one spot where it had been smudged. I saw him glance curiously at it, for he surely didn't know what it was. He began to walk closer. I stepped towards him, brainstorming something I might say.

"Um..Mr. Warden Snyder? Sir?" I put my hand on his arm; a dangerous thing to do. He turned and looked at me, his cold eyes registering surprise at such a bold move. I plunged on, ignoring the shocked stares of the other boys. _Alright, Crutch, suck it right up…_

"I just wanted you to know…that while you were taking your nap this afternoon, I noticed…" I rambled on about how one of the other wardens had misplaced something or another, which was true, and I had found it. Out of the corner of my eye, I saw Jack swing across the window, to the side where David could safely pull him up. I couldn't afford to look back, although I wanted to tell him that I was glad he came. I hadn't seen his expression, but I knew he was not happy to leave me here.

I continued to ramble on, but my mind was working. Something big would happen soon. It would have to. Jack was not one to take defeat easily. But would he be able to find a way to outsmart them, win, and keep his freedom?


	4. Chapter 4

"Ain't it a fine life, a'peelin' and a'washin…"

"Ain't it a fine life, a'peelin' and a'washin…"

I sung loudly (and slightly off key) as I sliced potatoes for Snyder's lunch. He would be coming in from his meeting with some of the big shots soon, and I wanted to make sure that I was on time.

I was pretty hungry today, and my leg and back weren't hurting quite so much. Since Jack's visit last night, I felt better. _Maybe some things that seems physical is actually psychological, huh?_ I looked down at my twisted leg. _Hmm. Nope. That bum leg there… is definitely a bum leg. _I paused. _Unless…unless I gots me a bum HEAD that just THINKS that I got a bum leg…_

Ya gotta excuse this brain of mine. It's always comin' up with the darnest stuff. But a fella's gotta consider these things, right? Else he might be crazy. Yup. An that'd be a darn shame.

Hurrying with the potatoes, I began to butter the nice, hot bread slices. My stomach growled, already empty after this morning's cup of nameless mush. Too bad _we_ don't get no potatoes. _Doggone that fella…_Dirty rotten food stealer! My suspicions had been confirmed this week. I had actually had to help deliver the meals to the buyers that came the other day. They chose me to help because, well, I couldn't run off. Anyway…

I had heard whisperings, among the bulls as they came in and out of the Refuge, that made me think that something might be up. Keeping this in mind, I had tried to be as watchful as I could, and warned the other boys in this joint to do the same. As I had told them,

"You _can_ help with this strike. Keep ya ears open and eyes wide. We got ta keep th' outside boys informed about these big shot's plans, as much as possible."

So they were on the lookout. On guard.

As I finished with Snyder's plate, I heard a buggy pull up out front. I looked out the kitchen grating, which was just about eye level with the ground outside (since the kitchen is a cellar/basement).

Looking through the narrow slates in the bars, I saw Snyder getting out of his carriage. Turning to his bums, the ones that hang around to help him in the muscle area, he called them over.

"It's all set, gentlemen. We have the means now." The men around him laughed and began cracking their knuckles. I listened carefully, slightly confused. _Slightly. _All right, all right, I had no idea what they was talkin' about! Sheesh.

Snyder held up his hand. "Now. Mr. Weisel instructed that we all arrive before sunup in the morning. That means before breakfast, Byron." The men all groaned, but continued to listen. "You make _sure_ that you are there on time. We want to have no interference before we have to. The newsies always arrive early. Weisel and his nephews will be there to help us get organized. And don't worry, you are all on Pulitzer's payroll."

My heart caught in my throat as I listened to the men's cheers. _The dirty scabs is settin' a trap! How can I let Jack know?_ My mind worked so fast it felt like it would blow a fuse.

I hobbled up the kitchen steps as fast as I could manage. Hurrying two sets of stairs to Shiner's day cell, I opened his food slot, slamming the port open with a bang.

He looked up, startled, his black hair falling into his face. "Whatssa mattah, Gimp?"

Ignoring the name I detested so much, I hurried on.

"What do you do when you gotsta get a message to your outside boys?" I panted. "and in a hurry?"

"What?" He looked confused. "Well, me little brudda comes by and hollers up at me window every afternoon afta he gets done at the factory."

"Swell. He'll be here today, then?" I anxiously shifted my crutch to my other arm.

"Sure. Nevah missed a day yet."

I quickly explained what was going on, and Shiner stroked his chin thoughtfully.

"Your brudder is gonna have to tell Jack. They gotta be warned or someone'll get hurt…"

"Me brudder can't go to Cowboy." I looked at him incredulously.

"_WHY NOT_?"

"For one thing, he'd nevah find th' way to the Manhatten lodging house. He is only five. For anudder, he gots to report in to Spot right aftah."

My head shot up. "Brooklyn? Your bruddah is in the care of Brooklyn?" He nodded, his eyes twinkling.

My mind tried to absorb this new information. "Alright. Your brudder can't go to Manhattan. But he _can _bring Spot here! Alright. Shiner, when your brother comes, here is what ya gonna tell him. Spot has to come _now, as soon as possible._ When he gets here, he'll know what to do."


	5. Chapter 5

It had been hours since Pepper-Shiner's little brother-had left to relay the urgent message to the king of Brooklyn. It was nearing midnight, and I paced back and forth in my small area in the block. I tried to stay close to a window, in case Spot wanted to get my attention some way.

_If he were Jack he wouldn't haveta worry bout that. He'd just shimmy on down on his lariat._

I shook my head. Spot may be king of Brooklyn, but he was no Jack Cowboy Kelly. Well…I guess they _were_ two of a kind-both leaders, both extremely cunning, but very different.

I sighed impatiently. _If he don't come soon, it'll be too late! _I knew Snyder and the crew was leaving early…my guess would be around four or four thirty in the morning, just to be safe…and we needed to get the message to somebody. And as soon as possible!

The town clock tolled one o'clock. _One in the damned morning!_ I punched my fist into my pillow angrily. The minutes ticked by slowly, but much too quickly. I agonized and worried even more when at exactly ten to four I saw I turned just in time to see a small flicker of light out in the street. _Coulda been just a match. Or…_

Something told me it was Spot. I glanced around the room, signaling the boys to keep a watch, and then crept (okay, limped) over to the window.

Everything outside was dark, and for a few moments I thought I'd been mistaken. But then, I heard the familiar twitter of Brooklyn; the "bird call" code of the Brooklyn street rats that they used to communicate. Hence the role of Brooklyn's "boidies."

I never had learned the method of doing the birdcall the right way, so I just whistled softly and motioned whoever the heck was down there to get up here where I could talk to 'im! Geez.

I strained my eyes to see who was there, and a figure emerged below the window. Trying to see a face, I squinted and looked carefully. Then, I saw a flash of light on the key hanging around Spot's neck. It was him!

"Psssstttt! Spot! Is that you?" I whispered loudly, stupidly.

The soft oath I heard below confirmed my earlier consensus.

From below I could barely hear Spot's soft reply.

"I'm heah, ya guttersnipe. Now, quick. Tell me what's goin' on."

Over the years, my relationship with Spot had always been a love/hate relationship. Or rather, we didn't particularly have many bones to pick with one another, but somehow we always seemed to enjoy insulting or embarrassing each other.

But Spot, not unlike Jack, always took it good-naturedly. From me, anyways. It seemed there was a protective side to him too. It bugged me a little, and I suppose that is why I dished out so much to him. And he dished it right on back. But…there was one thing he would never say to me. He had never once…and never would, called me a gimp. That was something that meant a lot to me.

I told Spot quickly about what I had overheard, and waited for his response.

"It sounds like they's gonna be waiting for 'em. And we don't have any time to warn 'em!" The frustration in Spot's voice sent a chill down my spine. Fighting back panic and realizing that time was running out, I gripped the bars on the window, hoping that he would think of something.

I saw the figure shove his cane into his suspenders. "I'm goin' back to Brooklyn."

I couldn't believe it. "No!" _He can't do that! He wouldn't…_

"I'm goin' to get me boys. Their ain't nothin' else that will work."

My mind raced._ What is he going to do?_

He turned then and bolted across the street at a dead sprint, and disappeared into the darkness.

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I sat alone in the dark room full of sleeping boys. I couldn't sleep. Heck, I couldn't have even tried. What was happening? Had Spot figured out a plan?

I tried to piece together possibilities. Then, suddenly, it made sense. Brooklyn Lodging House was only about a ten minute run from the refuge. But it was a good two and a half hour walk to the Manhattan Lodging House, where Cowboy and the others were, and the distribution center was where the all the action was to take place. It was at least two hours away.

As the picture came together in my mind, realization hit, and I sat straight up. _Spot will get there with his boys either just before or right after the distribution office opens. _I lay back down, knowing there was nothing I could do, and hoped fervently that it was before.

Otherwise….

It will be too late.


	6. Chapter 6

**A.N. **

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"_Alright…," David panted, "Everyone…Remain calm!"_

_A tense silence followed as the former newsboys glared at the traitorous newsies who dared to show up at the distribution center. It was almost six o'clock._

_Jack glanced at David for a moment, looking as if he might at least be __trying__ to hold his smoldering temper in check. But as the picture of a redheaded, skinny gimp came to his mind—the image of him being beaten so badly he could barely walk—flashed before his eyes, hell broke lose in his expression. _

"_Let's soak 'em, for Crutchy!" __A roar followed Jack's battle cry, and the band of protesting strikers rushed forward, repeating the challenge that Jack had given them._

_Jack and the others were on the heels of the scabbers who fled, and began desperately beating on the back gates. Suddenly the back gates swung open. Behind them were dozens of huge, burly men armed with clubs and chains. The gates behind the newsies were slammed shut, and locked._

"_Oh, Jack! Jack, It's a trick!" Racetrack's face betrayed panic as he quickly retreated into the knot of Manhattan boys. _

_The big bruisers surrounded the boys quickly, and began to start the job. Mush received a smashing blow to the back, but managed to keep his feet. Jack nimbly dodged a swinging chain by centimeters, and as David tried to help him, Jack realized that it was hopeless. Another swing of the chain caught him in the gut. He jumped back, a little late, and tried to convince the thug, in few words, to back off. _

_This was it. Jack could see it on all the boys faces. Terror. They knew what this meant. Outside the gates, the press was being driven away. The only reason they would do that and close the gates, is if they were planning on killing some protesters—beating them to death. A policeman was nearly trampling Bryan Denton with his horse, forcing him away. Good ol' Denton had been out there watching, trying to help…_

_Jack took another hit that sent him against the steps. The boys tried to crowd together, but it was clear that even in their ever-weakening cluster they wouldn't last long. Even with Mush—their strongest alibi—it was over one hundred armed men against maybe thirty of 'Hattan's boys. Mush certainly couldn't take them all._

_Several of the boys cried out in frustration as the losing battle progressed. But suddenly Kid Blink yelled out, "Hey look!"_

_Jack and David yanked their eyes up to the roof of the Center. Their were Brooklyn boys up there. Spot leapt from the roof, landing with a loud BANG on the scaffolding. _

"_NEVAH FEAR, BROOKLYN IS HEAH!" Spots eyes glittered with a savage excitement. _

_Mush's voice cried out, tinged desperately with hope, "It's Brooklyn!"_

_A wild cheer rang out as confusion broke among Pulitzer's men._

_The thugs were then barraged with a rain of rocks and marbles. Jack fought his way to the deck, and Spot swung down with a mighty thud, knocking a goon out of the way. As the tide of the struggle turned, Pulitzer's men gradually retreated, and a wild cheer broke out. Spot opened the gates, and the Brooklynites descended on them with a mighty roar of fury, turning the tables on what was almost a deadly victory for the kings of the newspaper world. It was over almost before it began. _


	7. Chapter 7

I hobbled into the Rat's office to clean up after his supper. It was evening, and I had spent the day working in the kitchen. At around eleven, one of Spot's boidies had come running to the grating above my station. Through the holes, he whispered the news that everythin' was A-Okay. After handing me a note from Jack an' the boys, explaining what had happened, he got up and disappeared around the street corner.

Now, I felt like whistling as I limped over to Snyder's desk. "Heya, Mr. Snydah, how was ya supper?" I couldn't help but keep the chipperness out of my voice as I addressed him.

As usual, he completely ignored me and continued to focus on his paper, looking exasperated. I merrily began to collect his dishes, when I saw what he was looking at out of the corner of my eye.

I gasped. What do ya know! It was a picture of the boys, most likely taken this morning after Spot had helped our boys take on Pulitzer's goons. I grinned as I noted how awful the picture was of everyone. I chuckled. Bumlets was making a face that made him look nothing like himself. Heck, none of them favored themselves in this picture. It was hilarious!

But not Jack. He looked like the only one who had been ready for the picture. "Hey! That's Jack," I grinned without thinking, pointing to him, "He looks just like his self."

If only I could have kept my big, flappin' mouth shut.

Snyder's frustrated, snake-like eyes snapped up immediately. "_You_ _know this boy_?"

I realized my mistake. Too late. And somehow, it was _not_ funny anymore.

"No! Nnn…" I backed up.

I could have broke my own good leg! I kicked myself mentally as I realized why Snyder had been so frustrated. Warden Snyder knew Jack only as Francis Sullivan. He had immediately recognized his photograph in the pape, but upon reading it, could not find his name. He had come to realize that Sullivan must have taken on another name, for when the leaders were mentioned, he could not pick out a name among the newsboys listed, try as he might.

And then if _I_ didn't have to go in there, point _right to Jack_, and blow his cover! Now Snyder knew exactly what name to ask for. _Some friend you are, Crutch. _

Snyder sat back down, and studied the paper for a minute before facing me, his eyes glittering. "You have a famous friend, this…Jack. Do you know where he lives?" His words cam out as a hiss, just as I would imagine a snake to sound. If snakes could talk.

"I nevah hoid of him. Honest. It's this brain of mine. It's always makin' mistakes," I babbled, trying to put the mess I had created back together. "It has a mind of its own…"

Ignoring my protests, the Warden turned his attention away from me. My heart felt heavy as I turned to walk out. I had unwittingly betrayed my best friend. After helping to save all the fellas necks earlier today, it was all going to hell just because of one lousy slip up.

I realized just how much harder this _one_ slip would make things. I gritted my teeth and pressed me eyes shut, leaning against the outer door.

_I hope you'se on your toes, Kelly. _

A cold knot of fear began to twist my insides. I knew what they would do to Jack if he was caught and sentenced in the Refuge. I had heard Snyder rant about what he would do to "Sullivan" _way_ too many times.

"It is very easy for someone to disappear in here. You think I can't make it happen?" The evil glint in his maniac eyes always made my blood run cold. "Scientific research is paying well for objects of experimentation."

It might take a few days before Jack was legally sentenced, but after that…he could simply disappear. Forever.

A cold sweat broke out on my forehead as I realized the full impact of what I had done could be.

My hands began to shake.

"For God's sake, Jack," I whispered, choking as I buried my face in my fists, "_Please_ be on your toes."


	8. Run

Funny how one little slip up can change your whole outlook on life. Look at me, i was poifectly happy bein' alive, even heah in the Refuge, before I slipped up and ratted out Jack.

I stood in the group cell, alone, by the window, hoping Jack would show up, so's I could warn him. But no one came to talk.

One of Spot's boidies did throw a rock with a note tied on it through the window. I hobbled over to get it as the boidie scurried around the corner.

It was a flier for a newsie rally at Medda's. I couldn't read all of it, but I could get enough to know what was going on.

"Rally ta'night." I mumbled to myself. Suddenly, I realized that these fliers would be handed to every newsboy in New York by this afternoon.

"_Snydah."_ My blood ran cold. _"He'll have his goons swarming if he gets ahold a' one of these..." _My voice squeeked as I yelled, "Domino!"

"What?" The dark haired boy sat on his bunk, chewing on a straw. "Whatsa mattah?"

"Is there any way to get a message out today?"

The boy scratched his chin. "Boy, I dunno, Gimp. Me bruddah won't be back til tomorrow, an' ev'ryones' out helpin wit' the rally, so. . ."

"Wait! How many people in here know about the rally?" I hobbled painfully over to his bed.

"Pretty much everybody. What's wrong? Whats goin' on?"

A shook my head. "I gotta warn Cowboy. He doesn't know! He don't know dey know who he is!"

I turned and headed for the locked door. Once there, I started banging and yelling, calling for the goons to let me out.

"Gimp! Hey, man, what are ya doing!" Domino tried to get me to stop, but I paid him no mind.

I yelled and screamed, and finally two big bouncers came down to see what the fuss was. Thinking fast, I smashed my forhead against the wall, trying to get it to bleed. _Insanity can take you to new levels..._

Domino grabbed me, trying hard to restrain me. _Gotta get out...gotta get the door open..._

I suddenly went limp, and rolled my eyes into the back of my head.

"Oh, God," Domino cried, "C'mon, ya bulls! Help 'im! He's goin' crazy!"

My body started convulsing and twitching, and a little drool puddled under my lip.

I heard the keys turn in the lock, and the two bouncers nelt down to examine me. I stayed perfectly still. Finally, they decided to take me to Snyder, to see what they should do. As they picked me up, I opened one eye, looking at the startled Domino, and made a quick motion with my eyes.

Domino's eyes widened, and as the door opened, the goon carrying me didn't have time to react. I brought my elbow into his nose with smashing accuracy, and Domino smashed a chair onto the head of the other unsuspecting bruiser, and he crumpled to the floor.

The guard that had been holding me dropped me like a hot potatoe, and I landed with a thud. Domino jumped on his back and began peppering his temple with blows. I struggled toward my crutch, and looked up as the angry guard flipped Domino into the wall. I finally stood and gripped my crutch like a baseball bat. I swung and hit my target with a sickening crunch.

Both me and Domino sat catching our breath for a moment.

"Go." I whispered. "Warn. . . Jack. Trap. . . at Rally. Go to the basement. Keys to the smoke grid...hanging over oven."

He nodded, not fully understanding, but knowing it was imperitive that he comply. "I'll tell him."

I collapsed as he stumbled out of our cell, and I waited and listened for any sounds that indicated that Domino had been sighted. Gripping my crutch, and trying to brush the blood out of my eyes, I hobbled towards the window, so I could see the grid where Domino would crawl out into the street.

A movement at caught my eye as I saw Domino's head appear. I gasped, then clutched my side in agony at the action. I caught myself against the window's edge, and made myself consentrate on the grid.

Domino was just pulling himself up, when a sharp shout made him look up. They were on to him. Before he had the chance to get up, two, three, then six guards had spotted and were running straight for him, brandishing their chains and clubs.

The pain in my side made my vision blur. I tried to brush it off, but as I heard the sounds of bulls yelling and cursing, then the terrifying sounds of someone being beaten mercilessly, I tried to fight the wave of darkness that overcame me. _Gotta help him....he has to get away...he has to...._

I sank into merciful nothingness, and as I faded, one word escaped my lips.

"Run."


End file.
